


The Very Last Time

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Dubious Consent, Incest, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 01:31:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on the kinkmeme: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11099.html?thread=43334491#t43334491</p><p>
  <i>Varric/Bartrand</i>
</p><p>
  <i>That's it! That's the prompt!</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Pre- or post-Deep Roads. Mini-fills or long fills are welcome.</i>
</p><p> <i>It's just occurred to me that I've never seen any fics or smut with this pairing, and Rule 34 of the Internet surely demands that some smut with this pairing should be created :-D</i></p><p>After the Deep Roads, Bartrand begs Varric to help him hear the song again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Very Last Time

**Author's Note:**

> My first kinkmeme fill (of many more I hope, this was fun). I came for the immortality but I stayed for the cookies.

"Can you hear the song, Varric? I just want to hear it one more time. Please, little brother. Please, I know I don't deserve it."

Varric winced. Sometimes he hated visiting his brother, but no one else would do it. It wasn't as if Bartrand had any real friends after all, just business partners. And now that he was safely ensconced in the Chantry's sanitarium, a dirty little secret, Varric's own days became longer and more difficult. He found both solace and annoyance in the disturbingly white room with its small bed. A lumpy mattress that sat on a badly painted and peeling iron bedframe was the room's only furniture. Bartrand was given clay and coloring pencils to occupy his time. The white walls were decorated with disturbing pictures of the idol and other depictions of what transpired in the Deep Roads and later, the abandoned mansion. Every weekend when Bartrand was allowed into the common area, the walls would inevitably get painted over and he would start anew.

Varric tried to visit before the walls became too cluttered. He didn't need the reminders.

"I'll help you hear it, Bartrand," he said, with a long-suffering sigh. "But this is the last time."

He almost wished he could go back to hating him. It was easier. But Bartrand was his brother and he needed help. So Varric carefully hung the sheet over the small barred window. The steel door was all that separated them from the hallway. Any of the Chantry staff could walk in at any time. A bit of coin in the right hand ensured the extended visiting hours, and in the months Varric had been visiting, they'd never been interrupted. 

_This is the very last time._

But that's what he told himself last week. And the week before. Bartrand begged him again and again. Varric hated it. Though he would never tell Bartrand – and Maker how he regretted that now – he did look up to him. But not now. Now he looked at his older brother, lyrium-addled and broken, curled up in the corner, gazing up at him with wide, pleading eyes, with nothing but pity. And he wished for the days when Bartrand would yell at him for besmirching the noble name of House Tethras.

"I'll help," he said again, and pulled Bartrand to his feet.

It was easy to position his brother on his hands and knees on that lumpy mattress. He told himself he was helping. The more he did this, the happier Bartrand would be. He would hear the song in his head and be more relaxed, more compliant for the Chantry volunteers. After the first two violent months with Bartrand needing to be restrained, Varric told himself this was preferable. If the rumors flew about Bartrand being crazy, they would at least not speak of his violence. He would keep that secret for his brother.

"Thank you," Bartrand sobbed. "Thank you, brother."

Varric withdrew a vial of elfroot oil from his pocket before tugging off his coat. He never got fully undressed for this. If he did, there would be no more fooling himself as to why he continued week after week, and he might as well check himself into a room. He pulled the thin linen pants down over Bartrand's wide hips, ignoring the anticipatory shiver that went down his brother's spine. The oil was thick on his fingers as he moved behind Bartrand, carefully preparing him.

_I always did say Bartrand was a tight-ass._

With his other hand he unlaced his own breeches and slowly stroked himself to hardness. It was uncomfortable with his pants bunched around his thighs, but he came to terms with the discomfort. To remove his clothing entirely, to strip Bartrand and take him face to face or in any other position would be to admit that he _liked_ doing this. And Varric would rather not think about the implications behind that. Easier to pretend he was doing this just to help his brother. After all, he'd spent his whole life taking care of Bartrand. Why should that change now just because his brother was here?

Bartrand grabbed at the iron bedstead as Varric pushed in, panting quietly. They didn't speak, but Bartrand would hum as Varric thrust in and out. His blunt fingers gripped his brother's hips as he pumped his own, trying to ignore the fevered pitch of the song that Bartrand was trying to recreate. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and Varric shut his eyes tightly. He could pretend he was at the Rose if he wanted to, but he wouldn't cheapen his brother in such a way. And when he came, it was always in a Tethras House handkerchief that he would personally hand wash later that evening, after he was good and drunk.

Bartrand slept almost immediately after his own climax. Varric was thankful for that. He cleaned up, fixed his brother's clothing, and took down the sheet from the door, draping it over Bartrand, tucking him in. He balled up the handkerchief and shoved it deep into his pocket along with the empty vial before pulling his coat on and leaving.

 _This is the very, very last time,_ he thought as he nodded to the pretty receptionist before stepping back into the bright afternoon of Hightown.

But he knew deep down that he was fooling himself.


End file.
